


now you've waited, you've wondered

by synchronicities



Series: the 100 fusions [7]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:05:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8953069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronicities/pseuds/synchronicities
Summary: “The second challenge,” he says. “They took people important to the champions. They had to rescue you from the bottom of the lake.”Wells keeps talking, something about Monty and gillyweed, but Bellamy’s eyes have instinctively snapped to Clarke on the podium. Important, huh, he thinks, and almost like magic, her bright, blue eyes move to meet his.--Bellamy and Clarke at Hogwarts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the fourth movie.
> 
> Merry Christmas!!! I initially planned this to be much longer, but my laptop broke down as finals week ended and I had to rush this, so many apologies. I decided on using HP AU + Friends to lovers. Hope you like it!

Bellamy’s head is spinning. He hears bits and pieces of other peoples’ voices – Wells’s low _Bellamy,_ Miller’s quiet _is Blake all right_? He wonders where Octavia is –

 _Octavia_ –

He bolts upright, sputtering, and instantly small, cold hands are on his shoulders, then on his cheeks. He turns his head slightly and is instantly met with Clarke’s pale face and wide blue eyes, the worry evident on the creases on her brow. “Clarke,” he croaks, noting that like him, she’s soaking wet. Her hands are shaking, and he vaguely remembers that it’s the middle of February. “Clarke, what’s–”

Before he can finish his sentence, she throws her arms around him and murmurs something into his neck, and his arms are instinctively around hers before he realizes that what she’s saying is _I’m sorry_ , over and over again. Bellamy blinks before he looks around and registers that he’s on the docks of the Great Lake, and there are people cheering _Hogwarts! Hogwarts! Hogwarts!_

He looks to the side, and suddenly there’s Finn, bursting through the water, an unconscious Raven in his arms. Someone hoists Clarke away from him and hands him a towel and a blanket, and Wells and Miller help him to his feet.

“You okay, Blake?” Miller asks, gruff.

“As okay as I’ll be knowing I nearly drowned in Hogwarts Lake,” he mutters, grumpy. “What the fuck is happening?”

Wells and Miller exchange a glance – it’s unnerving, really, he knows they’re only friends because of him and Clarke – and Wells speaks up, voice still low. “The second challenge,” he says. “They took people important to the champions. They had to rescue you from the bottom of the lake.”

Wells keeps talking, something about Monty and gillyweed, but Bellamy’s eyes have instinctively snapped to Clarke on the podium. _Important, huh_ , he thinks, and almost like magic, her bright, blue eyes move to meet his.

* * *

 

The first task had been easier.

Sure, it hadn’t been _easy_ having to watch Finn, then Clarke, fight their way to a dragon’s nest. Bellamy was on the edge of his seat the whole time with worry – Clarke had always been shoddy at Care of Magical Creatures, and Bellamy could only tell her so much about Hungarian Horntails in the short time she’d been given. But she’d finished beautifully with her typical grace and aplomb, emerging mostly unscathed with a golden egg cradled in her arm, and she’d launched herself straight into Bellamy’s arms afterwards. He’d taken a beat to process before he’d hugged her back, easy as anything.

Sometimes, he’s still not used to the easy affection they’ve been starting to give each other. It was all snips and snark her first year, when he was still a prideful Hufflepuff with a recently deceased mother and she a defiant Slytherin with a father in Azkaban in the same Potions class. Professor Kane had made the grave mistake of partnering them on the first day, which had resulted in many an exploding cauldron – but somewhere in the middle of the year, in between all the singed eyebrows and elbowing and Professor Kane deducting points from both their houses, they’d become – friends.

Sometimes, he’s surprised they became friends at all, but that’s how it is – it’s not uncommon to see his Hufflepuff scarf around her neck or watch her sit next to him and Wells at the Hufflepuff table at mealtimes. They share butterbeer in Hogsmeade and study together in the library. She goes to his Quidditch games and he listens to her talk about helping out in the infirmary.

It was all too easy to fall in love with her along the way.

But her father is in Azkaban and she’s not talking to her mother and she’s _just_ fourteen, so Bellamy swallows it down and offers to help her with her dueling. He thinks she’s grateful for it, too.

* * *

 

Neither of them ask each other to the Yule Ball. It doesn’t matter then, they’re too preoccupied with the dragon egg and then the preparations then Bellamy is distracted by Lincoln asking Octavia, but then one of the professors mentions that it is _expected_ for Champions to come with a date, and _of course_ Mr. Blake would go with _Ms. Griffin_. They had traded uncomfortable looks, but that was that.

“You don’t actually have to go with me,” he’d begun, after Professor Cartwig left. “If you’re going with anyone else. Or we can just do the Champions’ dance together, then you can ditch me to hang out with Raven.”

Clarke had eyed him for too long a moment. “I wouldn’t ditch you,” she’d finally said. “We can hang out and make sarcastic comments about everyone else together afterwards.”

He had waited for her at the bottom of the staircase, telling himself that _it doesn’t mean anything_ and that _they’re going as friends_ , but all that goes out the window when he sees her in her dark blue gown, the lights glinting off her neat blonde curls, her smile wavering between confident and hesitant, and he has to remind himself to shut his mouth.

“You clean up nice, Griffin,” he’d said when she’d alighted, her fingers brushing against his elbow when he’d offered her arm.

“Not looking so bad yourself, Blake,” she’d replied in turn, her voice low, and _oh_ , this was something else.

He leads her into the ballroom, her grip tightening as the music swells and they walk inside. It’s honestly beautiful – the castle is done up in glittering white, and the violins sing sweetly as the Champions take their assigned places on the dance floor. Behind them, he can hear Raven’s hearty laughter at a joke Finn had cracked, in front of them, Lexa tucks a lock of hair behind Costia’s ear, beside them, he can see Octavia’s shy smile as Lincoln puts his hand on her waist.

And then in front of him –

Clarke looks visibly ill at ease, biting her lip and her eyes darting everywhere.

“Hey,” he murmurs, causing her to peer up at him from under her lashes, and _Merlin_ , she is beautiful – “Between the two of us, you’re the one who’s supposed to be good at fancy parties.”

She cracks a half-smile at that. “Wouldn’t want you upstaging me,” she says, before she drags his hand to her waist and takes his other hand in his. He resists the urge to grip her waist tighter than he should. “Sorry if I step on your shoes.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says, and then the music starts.

Their dance is…awkward, at first. Bellamy has never considered himself much of a dancer, but even he can tell that Clarke is tense, and their footwork suffers for it – she moves too late, he steps on her feet, and he doesn’t twirl her as quickly as he should. “Relax, Clarke,” he mutters, and he thinks he feels her body shiver before she takes a deep breath and turns to look at him.

Like a charm, his words work, and suddenly their movements are less awkward and wooden. Her body begins to move in tandem with his, their movements mirroring each other, their footsteps pushing and pulling and flowing with the music. He twirls her around and catches her effortlessly, vaguely aware of other couples joining them on the dance floor. The music continues to swell, and he knows that the smile growing on her face is only mirroring his.

All too soon, the waltz ends, and Clarke steps back from him, pulling into a curtsy but continuing to meet his eye. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but then the music changes to something more upbeat and modern, and she blinks, the moment broken.

“Not too shabby,” she remarks instead, before Harper and Roma grab her by the arm and pull her into the rapidly growing throng of people in the middle.

“You have it bad, Blake,” Miller says, and he can only grumble _shut up_ before joining the crowd as well. At some points he catches glimpses of Clarke in the crowd, her head thrown back in laughter or her body moving with the music, and his heart warms.

Yeah.

When the music slows he pushes Miller towards Monty and sits down, intending to sip more punch, when Clarke slides into the chair next to him.

“Is this the part where we talk crap about everyone else that’s here?” he teases, and she grins at him, flushed and warm.

“I’d rather not,” she says. “I take it back. Everyone’s so happy. We never get breaks like this.” They sit in companionable silence, watching couples sway in the center, before she pipes up again. “Thanks for back there, with the waltz. Saved me from lots of embarrassment.”

It would be so easy to lean across the distance between them and kiss her now. He could, and he’s not so sure she’d turn him down if he tried. “If I’d known you sucked at dancing I wouldn’t have agreed to go with you,” he grumbles good-naturedly instead, and she laughs.

They don’t join the slow dances, but for him, it’s enough.

* * *

 

Bellamy is the first one to get to her as she drops out of the Portkey during the third task, pale and gasping, seemingly unaware of the tears leaking out of her eyes. Beside him, he’s vaguely aware of Wells trying to calm a hysterical Raven, but all he can focus on is _Clarke, Clarke, Clarke_.

“Clarke,” he says, gathering her into his arms and cringing at the way her body is trembling. “Clarke, listen to me. Clarke, it’s going to be okay.”

Even then, the words feel hollow, but Clarke only curls further into his body, her tears leaking into his shirt and her arms coming up around his torso.

“He’s back,” she’s saying, her voice small. “The dark lord’s back, and Finn is dead, and all because I wasn’t _fast_ enough.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says, something he knows to implicitly be true. “It’s all right. I forgive you.”

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, curled around each other, before Professor Sinclair gently asks Clarke to come visit the Headmaster’s office. He knows there will be things to worry about – Finn’s death, Voldemort returning - but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get her tear-streaked face out of his mind.

* * *

 

The year that follows is difficult.

Clarke goes about her prefect duties with the wit and work ethic she had been so admired for in Slytherin despite the whispers that follow her in the hallways and the smear campaign the Daily Prophet seems to be running against her, but those close to her can tell that something’s off – her smiles don’t reach her eyes, her lips are drawn in a thin line. She and Raven, never quite the best of friends following Finn’s duplicity, sometimes sit next to each other at mealtimes, and no one questions them.

But there are other problems, too.

“The new DADA teacher is shit,” Raven says to them one day. “Charles Pike? What the hell is the point of a ‘Ministry-approved course’” if it doesn’t teach us shit?”

“Now, of all times, too,” Wells says. “If Voldemort really is back, then the students need to be _protected_. We can’t do that with Pike breathing down our necks.”

Raven considers this, before an idea dawns on her. “What if – what if we make something like a study group? Outside class hours, we meet, and teach students the things they _really_ need to know.” She turns to Clarke. “Clarke, you have to help us teach. You’re the best at DADA out of all of us.”

Clarke looks pensive. “I don’t know, Raven – I agree that we need it, but this is really risky, and I’d rather not get on Pike’s bad side.”

Raven frowns. “Blake?”

Bellamy glances at Clarke, whose brow is furrowed. “Well, you know me. Always up for a little chaos.” He thinks she smiles at that.

All their eyes turn to Clarke. She huffs, relenting. “We can do this, yeah?”

“Together,” Bellamy says.

“Together,” she echoes, looking at him.

It’s not easy at first. They generate lots of interest among the student body, although Bellamy can tell some students just want to know what happened at Finn’s murder. Raven hexes the signup sheet to tell them if someone ever snitches on them, and they _are_ almost found out a bunch of times before Wells finds the Room of Requirement.

Even after that, it’s hard work – things like the Patronus charm are hard to teach, and many students never foresaw practical applications to Defense Against the Dark Arts and take a while to get up to speed. He can tell Clarke is frustrated, but as he tells her – not everyone has had the experience with Voldemort she does, and that’s for the best.

But sometimes there are quiet nights, where it’s the four of them conversing in hush tones, and Bellamy leaning on her shoulder after a long afternoon teaching students the proper way to cast _Expelliarmus_. Sometimes it’s just the two of them, after Raven and Wells have retired to their respective dormitories, left as the candlelights begin to dwindle.

“Will there ever be any end to it?” she asks on one such night.

“It has to get worse before it gets better, right?”

She pauses. “You don’t have to be part of this,” she whispers. “We could be found out on any day. We’ll be in so much trouble, and–”

“Hey,” he says, his arm going around her shoulders. “I said we’d be in this together. I’m in this for the long haul, Clarke.”

She draws her knees up to her chest. “I never thank you, do I?” she whispers. “You do so much. For me, for all of us. Bellamy–”

“Clarke–”

“I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost you, too,” Clarke confesses, not looking at him. She leans in, so close their foreheads are touching. “Bellamy, I–”

And by god, he _knows_. He thinks of the mermaids’ laughter from the lake, Wells whispering _important_ , of her private, secret smile at the Yule Ball, of all the times she’d ever held him after waking up dreaming of his mother. He knows, and the realization is fireworks tingling all across his body, vines slowly curling around his heart.

But–

“We can’t,” Bellamy says softly, smoothing the hair back from her face. Their mouths are so close, it’s almost like he’s breathing in her air. “Clarke. There’s so much – the Army, Voldemort–”

“We’ll have time,” Clarke says, fiercely. “We _will_.”

In time, they will take Voldemort down. Clarke will go on to head the Spell Damage division at St. Mungo’s, and Bellamy will become one of the Ministry’s top Aurors. In time, Clarke will attend Raven and Wells’s wedding as the maid of honor, and will catch the bouquet Raven blatantly throws in her direction. Their friends will clap Bellamy on the back and laugh.

In time, Clarke will wander into their shared kitchen and be greeted by Bellamy magicking breakfast onto their table. He’ll leave the food to arrange itself and kiss her on the forehead, his fingers running over the swell of her belly.

But for now, they have each other, their friends, and a world to save.


End file.
